The Holly Dates

by Brittainy C. Cherry

To every guy I’ve come across on dating apps: Thanks for the writing material, you weirdos. I hope you have a happy holiday. Except you, Marty. Screw you, Marty.

My address might’ve described me as a city girl, but my heart always had a soft spot for rural Wisconsin and my townspeople.

reading. I traveled with novels the same way people traveled with their vape pens—glued in my hands.

Novels saved millions of people from uncomfortable situations.

For some reason, guys always looked better in person than on dating apps. Their picture-taking skills were lacking half the time, so it was almost always a pleasant surprise to see them in person.

“Let’s just say sometimes books are better than reality.”

Maybe a real man hadn’t gotten me off in a while, but enough fictional men said the right things to make me blush.

“Life happens when we’re not looking in all directions. Sometimes it’s messy.”

The other day, I fell into a weird part of social media and watched a shirtless man chop wood for like five hours straight, and then he crushed a watermelon with his thighs. Why was he crushing fruit with his thighs? Please don’t ask me. Why was I watching him crush said fruit? Well. It was…impressive.

As a millennial, I did what most of us did regarding trauma. I sent self-deprecating memes to my friends, worked longer hours so I wouldn’t have to face my emotions, and buried said trauma deep, deep down while reminiscing about how great ’90s music was.

It was called the windy city for a reason—men blew in and out of my life at record speeds.

“This dating with intention thing is a drag, and frankly, if I keep at your dos and don’ts list, there’s a very big chance I will end up alone for the remainder of my days.” “Are you always this dramatic?” “Yes, it’s what my brother despises about me.” “Your brother seems like a smart guy.” “He’s the leading cause of my therapy bill.”

He was a coldhearted jerk, and for some reason, that tickled me pink. Just like the grumpy heroes in my romance novels, I was going to work on softening up that hardened pumpkin of a man. I was determined to see the mush of his heart that lived inside his chest.

He was the type I went for, too—emotionally unavailable and uninterested in me. What could I say? I had a type.

“Good girl.”

“I’m an author, Kai! I think in paragraphical terms.” “Paragraphical isn’t a word.” “I’m an author, not an editor.”

“It’s clear that you feel like you have to hide your smut books from me. You don’t have to be ashamed. If you want to read about throbbing cocks, quivering thighs, and aliens banging each other, do it, Kai. This is a judgment-free zone.”

“Don’t do that, Holly,” I whispered, lacing my hands together in my lap. “Don’t do what?” “Read the parts of my book that I don’t share with people.” “It’s a good book, Kai. I wish you’d let me read it all.”

I now understood why they called them crushes—because they crushed your soul repeatedly.

Holly was a woman who felt a lot of things at all times. I was a man who felt little until she came into my world. I didn’t fault her for her emotions. I envied her ability to feel things so deeply.

A shitty man deserved shitty pants.”

It was at that moment I completely fell for Kai Kane.

You don’t have to feel anything other than friendship with me. But I don’t know how long I’d be able to hide this feeling. I don’t know how long I could pretend that you aren’t the person I think about first thing in the morning and that you aren’t the person I think about last each night.”

“I don’t think you loved her too much,” I told him. “I think sometimes, someone doesn’t know how to accept the love that comes their way. And if that was the case, she should’ve left you.

“You are worth loving, Kai. You are the most loyal, gentle, beautiful human I’ve ever met. I need you to know that you are lovable in every single way, and I hate every person who made you doubt that.”

I wasn’t certain how many breaks a heart could handle, but mine was on life support.